


231 - Living Below the Poverty Line, and then... Newly Rich Van

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: A fic inspired by this post: http://thedeadweresetfree.tumblr.com/post/159995543534





	231 - Living Below the Poverty Line, and then... Newly Rich Van

You overheard a lady in a matching floral tracksuit on the bus. She was talking the ear off a young guy holding a skateboard. She said, "I just packed up my bag and moved cities. Didn't know another soul there! Needed a change." She seemed happy, which was more than you could say for yourself. 

You hated your job; being a receptionist was mind-numbing and the flashy shoes hurt your feet. All the friends you ever really liked had either moved to one of the bigger cities or had started families to occupy their time. Essentially, where you were you felt no sense of belonging or connection. As you listened to the lady, it dawned on you. You didn't owe anything to that town. You didn't owe anything to anyone. You could pick up your stuff and walk out the door and never come back. You could do it, and so, you did.

Your savings covered the deposit and monthly rent on a studio apartment. It was in the worst part of the city but the door had three locks. Besides, you had nothing of value for anyone to steal. If they broke in they'd be met with two rooms. The smaller was a bathroom with home brand toothpaste and shampoo, some makeup and a stack of three towels. The larger was the kitchen/lounge/bedroom, with no television and a mattress for a bed. The fridge and microwave came with the place and even if they could be stolen, they probably wouldn't be worth the hassle. You took your laptop everywhere with you. All your clothes were thrift shopped. Anybody desperate enough to take anything you owned probably needed it more than you, you thought.

Regardless of how little you owned and the lack of quality of it, you were still met with a profound sense of pride when you stepped into your place for the first time. It was yours. It was more than ever thought you'd get. It was more than you had growing up. It was enough.

The next step in the establishment of your new life was to find a job. You were determined to find one that wouldn't crush your spirit and would allow you to meet people and listen to music and be happy.

…

You were in a bar that functioned as a live music venue every other night. It was a little after eleven in the morning, so the place was closed. You were there to submit an application for bar staff. The manager said she liked your tenacity; she disappeared out back to find another form for you to fill in. You stood alone in the room, looking around. Some big name bands had performed there and their photos hung from the walls in frames.

From the entrance hallway, a person appeared. He glanced at you, then around the empty room.

"Hey…" he greeted slowly. He obviously knew the place and knew you were not a usual part of it.

"Um. Hi. Mila's just out back," you said. He nodded and jumped to sit on the bar.

"Who are you?" he asked. You walked to him, pulling your folder of resumes and application closer to yourself defensively.

"Y/N. I'm applying for a job,"

"Oh, cool! Everyone that works here is really cool and nice," he told you, nodding.

"Do you work here?"

He laughed and the mismatched nature of vampire teeth next to bunny teeth became your favourite thing about him. Then you realised you'd started a list of your favourite things about him. Fuck. His buckled boots. Sparkly eyes. Effortless cool. Warmth. He was warm.

"No. My band used to play here a lot. Back in the city for a bit, so I thought I'd come say hi to Mila," he said. You nodded and watched as his neutral smile slowly twisted up into a smirk.

"Hey, Van the Man!" Mila called as she walked across the room. He jumped from the bar and bundled her up in a hug. "You've met Y/N? She's our newest family member. The baby of the bunch," she told Van. 

They watched as you burst to life with happiness.

"What? Wait. You're giving me… I've got the job?! Just like that?!"

"Yeah, babe. You're smart and don't seem all uppity and pretentious. You're younger than I usually hire, but I think you'll be right. Start you off on daytime shifts and go from there," Mila said, handing an employee declaration form over. You were speechless. 

Van laughed. “I like her," he said.

"Yeah, yeah, 'course you do. Look at her. Just your type," she replied. He took offense.

"I don't have a type!"

"Sure. Anyway. What are ya doing in this neck of the woods, mate?" she asked him. 

You weren't sure if you were meant to leave, so you stood awkwardly and watched them talk back and forth for a minute. "Um… Should… Sorry," you spoke quietly.

"Sorry, babe! Yeah. Take the form. Fill it out. Bring it back tomorrow. Come in at 10 am and we'll get you started, yeah?"

You nodded and thanked her. Van winked at you on the way out. He was bad at winking, and it became your new favourite thing about him.

Apartment. Tick. Job. Tick. A boy to daydream about while in the shower… while hacking into the neighbour's wifi… while smoking through an open window… while eating cheese toasties… while falling asleep. Tick. Things were gonna be great. And, life at the bar was better than you could have hoped for, and you didn't really let yourself hope for all that much in the first place. 

Your life had been rough, so having a safe environment to work in, where you were paid above minimum wage plus tips was incomprehensible. Like Mila had said, you were the youngest and the other staff treated you like a baby sister. Anyone that flirted too hard or hovered too long, was shooed away from the bar quickly. You were walked to the bus stop and invited to parties and very quickly you fell in love with them all. 

Van didn't come up in conversation as much as you hoped. One afternoon though, while cleaning tables, you spotted his picture on the wall. Stopping to inspect it, Jessie snuck up and yelled a dramatic, "Boo!" in your ear. Yelping, you turned and swatted him with the cloth. "Whatcha doing?"

"Nothing. Cleaning,"

"Cleaning Catfish's photo? Heard you met Van when you applied?" Jessie asked. You nodded like it wasn't a big deal. "Yeah, Mila said. Hung out with the guys the other night and he asked 'bout you, so you must have made an impression,"

"Weird," you replied. Jessie followed you to the next table.

"Yeah. He goes 'how's that well fit girl fitting in?' in that voice, you know? He's got millions of people dying to have him call them fit,"

"Okay,"

"Okay? Nothing more to say?" Jessie asked with a smirk. You shrugged, moving back over to the bar. "So… when I see him again, should I not give him your number? 'Cause he asked me to hook him up but you know, said I'd ask you first."

You lifted the rack of hot, clean glasses onto the bar top and started to dry and polish. Jessie sat on one of the stools. You looked at him. Mila emerged from the stock room.

"Jessie, what are you doing? Do something useful," she said.

"I am. I'm setting Y/N up with Van," he replied.

"Ohhhhhh! I did say she was his type. He's asked about her, right?" Jessie nodded and made a smug face at you. "Make it happen, Jess, but not right now. Invite him to the Friday thing. Y/N. You're working Friday now," she said, collecting the month's receipts and disappearing again.

"Job. Boyfriend. Anything else we can do for ya?" Jessie said, chuckling. You threw the tea towel at him and walked away, still pretending it wasn't the best thing to happen to you since… well, since getting the job.

…

The thing on Friday was pretty much just a regular night at the bar, but the drinks were a little cheaper and the music was a little louder. If Mila called it an event, then she could get away with a few noise complaints under the guise of 'community enrichment.' 

As promised, she'd scheduled you on the roster. You started at 7 and finished at 11; it meant things were only really kicking off when you were done. You knew that you wouldn't be allowed to leave though.

After signing out in the book, you took your black apron off from around your waist and checked your makeup in the employee lounge mirror. Wings fixed and perfume reapplied, you ventured back out to the bar. Jessie wasn't working, but he was sitting on a stool talking to the people rostered on. You took a seat next to him. He grinned.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said.

"Yeah. What a coincidence," you replied deadpan, looking around the room. It was a good mix of regular customers and new people that would undoubtedly fall in love with the easy cool of the bar. Some of the faces seemed familiar; probably people in the photos on the walls.

"You looking for someone?"

"Fuck off," you said, turning back to face him. He laughed.

"Seriously though, did you invite anyone?" Jessie asked, sipping the free beer in front of him. You were handed a drink and felt a little bit gooey about the fact that they knew your drink of choice.

"Only just moved here, remember? Only know you guys,"

"Oh, yeah. I'll introduce you to a bunch of people. You can take your pick of the best of the best."

For an hour, you sat at a table with Jessie as people came and went; he was popular. Each time you liked a new person, you'd slide your phone across the table and let them add their socials from your accounts. Racking up the friend count, you already felt a little loved and achieved by the time you spotted Van walking in with another guy.

Mila jumped clean over the bar, a practised skill, and pulled them into a joint hug. You turned away but continued to watch through peripheral vision as she pointed them over to where you and Jessie were sat.

"Van!" Jessie said as he stood. They all hugged. "You've met Y/N,"

"Yeah, course. Hey. How are ya?" Van asked as he held his arms out for a hug and pulled you in.

"Hi. Good. You?"

"Really good, love. This one's Larry, me best mate. Larry, Y/N," Van introduced. After hugging him too, you all sat at the table as drinks were delivered.

You listened to them catch up and it became apparent to you that the type of life Van had was not one you'd let yourself ever consider, not even in your wildest dreams. Despite his own confessions of disbelief, and laughing at the being in first class on planes and trains, it felt weird to be around someone so unconcerned about… anything, really. Jessie made jokes about how Van was "all rich and posh now," which indicated that he hadn't always been and although you wanted to know more about that, you figured it would be weird to ask about his poor kid backstory.

"So, Y/N, ya like working here?"

"Yes. In love with it. Like you said, everyone is super nice,"

"Except him," Larry joked, pointing at Jessie.

"Oh, yeah. We all tolerate Jess, but he's a bit of a cunt," you replied.

"Look, you ain't exactly wrong," Jessie said, failing to defend himself.

"But, yeah, no, it's the best job I've ever had. The best anything I've ever had,"

"Bit like family here, yeah?" Van said in a weirdly serious tone and with a warm smile on his face. You nodded.

"Yeah,"

"She's getting heaps of tips too. Making a mint, aren't ya?" Jessie added. You laughed.

"Um. I mean, the other day I got bagels instead of the one pound loaf of cheap bread. Paid my phone bill on time. If that's making a mint, then yeah; I'm rolling in it, mate," you replied with a grin.

Later, despite having dozens of other people he could have been hanging with, Van was still at your table. Jessie had disappeared and Larry was at the bar, caught up in conversation with someone. Both you and Van were well on your way to being drunk. He was leaning over his bottle, watching you watch him. It occurred to you that neither of you had spoken for a while. Then, suddenly, he smirked.

"What?"

"I think I've worked you out," he said.

"Yeah?”

"Yeah. You're a bit like me, I reckon…" He paused to see if you were interested in his theory. You nodded at him to continue. "You appreciate all this, you know? The job. The people that work here. The tips. Anyone would, but you really, really do,"

"Yeah,"

"Yeah. Same as me. I just… I'm so grateful for everything I have. I don't even know how to say it enough, you know what I mean? People have just… been so good to me. We're both like that. Both grateful,"

"Effusive. We're both effusive," you agreed. Van looked at you with an expression of confusion. "Means, um, to show thanks in a real meaningful way. Super genuine and warm about being grateful about the good things, you know?"

"Yeah, exactly! Effusive. That's a good word,"

"It's one of my favourites. I like spork too," you replied. 

Van laughed. "I've always like simpatico,"

"You're that, too,"

"Thanks, love. You too. Another thing we have in common. But, like I said, you appreciate things and I reckon it's maybe 'cause we both were raised the same?"

Maybe you could ask him about his poor kid backstory. "How were you raised?" 

Van told you about his parents spending their savings on Australia and IVF. He told the story of the linen cupboard where he'd wait out hide and seek games all night. The grafting family, the scrapped together meals and the overwhelming sense of achievement when Van could finally pay his family back for everything they'd done and given him. When he finished his story, he sighed fondly, happy in his memories.

It was hard to tell if it had been worse than Van had made it sound; he seemed like the type to find silver linings and let nostalgia cloud his mind. However, good parents can make anything work. By the sounds of things, his were superstars of parenthood, creating the type of loving environment that didn't rely on money and materialism.

Your own story was similar to his, but a little bleaker. You'd had it a little worse. Van was right though, about appreciating it all. You wondered how much he thought you had though. That is where your similarities ended. Living the 'do I eat three meals this week or pay my electricity bill?' life, it was clear that while you both were grateful, Van had more to be grateful about.

"Sounds like you'll stay pretty level headed then. No matter how rich and famous you get," you said when he'd finished talking.

"Oh, yeah. Got a few ways to keep me on Earth, you know? Keep the right people around. Save the money. Never wanna be like… riding private helicopters everywhere… well… I do… but I won't. My dad would give me so much shit," he laughed.

"Well, if you do end up with a helicopter, I'd love a ride over London, you know?"

"Love, you'll be the first person I call. Promise."

…

"Weather's a bit rough for a fly today," you answered the phone, rolling over in bed and looking out the window. Miserable rain but a perfect way to start the day nonetheless. 

Van chuckled. "Still workin' on that one. Thought maybe we could just do dinner instead. Safe on the ground."

His voice was equal measures hopeful and sure. He probably grew up with girls saying no to him all the time, but it was probably rare for him to hear that word as an adult. Anybody that could look that good with greasy hair was never going to be told no. You weren't like the other people he'd met though. You were just like him - normal, humble, grafting.

"Dinner sounds good. I've got work tonight and tomorrow. Maybe Sunday?"

"Sunday roast. Yeah! Wear ya best dress. I'll pick you up."

He didn't know where you lived, nor did he give you a time. That would come later. The important thing was that you had two days to find something that could pass as your 'best dress.' Everything you owned had at least one hole or was thrifted and worn at the seams.

…

You had tried to convince Van just to meet you at the restaurant. Despite what he had told you about his upbringing and despite your own honest pride in your place, there was still something… unnerving about the thought of Van rocking up at your apartment door. But, he insisted and didn't seem at all worried about the peeling paint and dusty hallway that led him to your door.

"You look amazing!" he greeted, pulling you into a hug and almost hitting you in the face with a huge bunch of long stem red roses.

"Thank you," you replied. The dress was borrowed from the new new girl at the bar.

"And these are for you!" He handed the bunch over. It was heavier than it looked. "There's a hundred of them. Imagine that being your job. Just countin' roses all day,"

"A hundred?"

Van nodded happily. One time when you were seven years old the neighbour came over, head over heels in love with her new boss. He'd inappropriately sent her 100 long stem red roses and your mum and her spent the day working out they cost a lot of money. A lot.

"Like them?"

"Yeah. Yes. They're beautiful. Thank you. You really didn't have to though. I don't even have a vase…" you replied, looking around at the same space. Van laughed.

"You got a jug for water or whatever? That's what my ma used to use. Don't know why she never just got a proper vase. My dad bought her flowers all the time,"

"Does she have one now?"

Van thought for a second while you looked to see what you could use. There was a nearly empty 2L cardboard juice box in the fridge. You downed the rest and cut the top off, filled it with water and balanced the heavy flowers in it. It had to lean against the wall to not fall over.

"I think she does. She must. Yeah… Maybe I'll get her a nice one for her birthday," he answered. He looked up at you and grinned. "That works!"

"Yeah… The fanciest thing in this place," you mused, rubbing one of the velvet soft petals between your fingers.

"It's gonna get fancier, love. You ready? Let's go."

It was calming to be driven by uber to the restaurant. After the roses, you had half expected a limo or something horrible. Alas, you listened as Van chatted to the driver about the city and what it was like to drive for a living. "Used to work in IT. At the desk all day. This job lets me meet people,"

"Oh, man. I know what you mean. I'm in a band and the best part is going places and meetin' people. I love it," Van replied. He had positioned himself in the middle seat, the material of his jeans rubbing against the bare skin of your legs. Glancing at you every so often, he'd knock his shoulders against yours and continue the conversation.

Seated in the restaurant, you sucked a breath in and didn't let go. Van wasn't joking. Fancy didn't really even begin to describe it. Caviar and lobster and gold leaf were probably on the menu, but it was written in a language that was surely not English. You dodged having to read it by letting Van and the waiter make decisions for you, something you would usually never do. There were thick cotton napkins placed in laps and excessive amounts of cutlery and weird icy stuff to eat between courses. Van's voice even lost some of its working-class accent and lowered to a deep tone. At least he also didn't seem to know which of the multiple forks to use for what food.

While you tried to remember if you'd ever tasted anything as pure and good as whatever chocolate dessert was in your mouth, Van watched you carefully.

"What?" you asked after swallowing.

"You're different,"

"Different than what?"

"Then how you were we met, or that night we talked proper. You've gone all quiet," he said, his eyes darting around the room then settling back on you. "You okay?" You nodded but failed to say anything, which was ultimately very unconvincing and did nothing to move the conversation along. "Is it this place? Not really my thing either, but you know, figured, since you just moved here and work at the bar and stuff, that you probably never been somewhere like this,"

"Somewhere this expensive?" you asked.

"Yeah… but… fancy. Somewhere all… you know. With the little forks and everything," he said, holding up the unused tiny trident. "I didn't mean-"

"No, it's okay. I know what you mean. You're right. I haven't, ever. Not in my whole life. Like, I knew places like this existed but… this is next level." You spoke slowly as you tried to read the people around you. "I forget people live like this." Van made a sound that was almost a laugh. Your attention snapped to him. "You. You live like this now, right?" 

It was a rhetorical question but he had to answer it anyway.

"No! No. I mean… I make more money than I need now, but I'm savin' it all for my kids, you know? I still just eat fish 'n chips. Don't waste a cent on places like this." He sounded defensive which meant you sounded accusatory.

For people that had come from the same beginnings, you were at very different endings. While there was no tension or resentment because of that, your opposite positions created a thin layer of something… a distant cousin to tension, maybe.

You didn't bother protesting when Van paid the bill. Even if you only paid for the entrée, you'd have to work double shifts all week. And besides that, you understood what he was doing. He just wanted you to have something nice.

…

By the time you worked out what Van was doing, it was too late to stop him. After the first date and your out of character quietness, the dates were far more low-key. He'd still arrive with a gift, usually flowers and usually in their own glass vases. He'd still pay for it all. But, they involved less confusing cutlery and more familiar haunts. It was those casual dates that blinded you to what he was doing.

He'd stop by with bags of groceries and pretend that they were for him but 'accidentally' leave them at yours. He didn't even eat tofu. You'd freak out when you realised you'd not paid the electricity account, only to find the bill open and hidden under a pile of junk mail. Van's messy handwriting spelling out a payment receipt number. When your old vans cracked at the sides and made your socks wet whenever you wore them outside, new ones arrived in the mail with no return address. Whenever you'd confronted Van about it, he'd say, "Don't know what you're on about, love," or "Fuck. Forgot about that bag. Larry really wanted them Jaffa cakes too," or "Nah, got the shoes for free, 'cause of my name, you know?"

Each incident seemed isolated due to distance in time, and existing between the easy dates to arcades and record stores. When you laid back on your mattress with a little weed you got from a customer in lieu of a tip, it all suddenly become connected. "Motherfucker," you whispered to yourself. Pawing around for your phone, your hand felt heavy and you almost blinded yourself when you dropped it on your face. "Siri, call Van,"

"Do you mean Van banana blue heart dog face McCann?"

You snorted. "Yes." The phone rang.

"Y/N! What's up, love?"

"You… I don't need nobody looking after me," you said. You had meant it to be a firm statement but your voice was bubbly with giggling. Banana blue heart dog face. You wondered how the emojis next to your name in his phone sounded out loud.

"Okay? You okay?"

"What emojis are next to me?"

"What? Y/N, are you okay? Where are you?" Van was worried but you couldn't hear that.

"Home. Emojis in my name,"

"In your name?"

"Yeah. In your phone. You're Van banana blue heart dog face McCann," you explained. He chuckled a little, but was still unnerved.

"Uh… I don't know. You picked them, remember? You got the unicorn and the four leaf clover and somethin' else,"

"Don't I have a heart?" you replied in a whine.

"Yeah… That's the last one. The heart with the arrow through it. Baby. Are you okay? Are you drunk?"

"No. Do you ever wonder how come there are so many emojis that are special to Japan?"

Van fell silent. You thought it was because you'd said something profound. He was just deciding what he wanted to do.

"Uh, no. It's just 'cause emojis are Japanese. So, that makes sense. Y/N. I'm just gonna come over and see you, okay? You need anything?"

"I don't need you to look after me,"

"I know you don't but I need to know you're alright. I'll stop and get you some of that gross milk stuff you like,"

"Pringles," you added, forgetting again why you called him.

By the time he was knocking on your door forty minutes later, you'd slept off the weed. He followed you across the room and down onto your mattress. Van watched you punch the straw through the top of the carton and suck down the honeycomb flavoured milk in nearly one go.

"I was high," you said. He nodded and popped the lid off the tube of Pringles. You laid back together and listened to the sound of each other's crisp crunching.

"People usually make drunk phone calls, not baked ones,"

"I do things my way," you replied. He nodded again.

"Yeah, you do,"

"Speaking of," you said, sitting up and looking at him. "You have to stop all of this."

Van frowned, ate another Pringle, then looked around the room like it would explain what you meant. He looked back at you and you mentally kicked yourself for getting just a little lost in his stupid beautiful Goddamn blue eyes again.

"All of what?"

"You can't pay my bills and buy me milk and shoes. You're not like… my mum,"

"That'd be fucked for a lot of reasons,"

"Van!"

"Sorry!" He sat up and took your hands in his. "Look, I know… I just… I don't want you to feel like I'm controlling you or anything like that. I don't think you owe me anything and I'm not tryna' prove anythin' either. I just… It feels good, you know?"

"Feels good?"

"Yeah… Like, I've always liked buying people stuff. Presents and drinks, or whatever. And even though our first date was… well, I know you weren't heaps comfortable, you still got excited about it. Makes me happy. When you send the little videos of you eating the Nutella, that makes me happy. And when I get to be here for it, like now, with the gross milk, it's just… extra good. I get all warm and stuff,"

"Warm?"

"Yeah," Van replied with a nod and a smirk. The smirk. What was that?

"Okay. I get it. I believe you. But… we gotta set some ground rules," you said. Van was still smirking, still holding back a grin. "What the fuck is that?! What are you smilin' about?" He shrugged and munched on another Pringle.

"You got any more weed?"

"No. You can buy the drugs from now on,"

"Okay but where'd you get it, 'cause it seemed real good,"

"Van!"

"What?" he laughed, reaching out to bring you back to the mattress.

"You're being so weird."

You curled around each other. Van started to laugh. You ignored him until he whispered, "Warm," again.

"Wait!" you called, sitting up again. "Do you mean like… Van! This is your thing, isn't it? Like, your kink?"

"I don’t think being a good person counts as a kink, love,"

"No, it totally is. You're totally fucking digging this whole sugar daddy thing," you said. As soon as the words escaped your mouth you both visibly cringed, then laughed. Van made a face you wish you could have caught on film.

"Don't I have to be well older than you for that?"

"I don't know. Can we pretend I never said that. Fuck," you replied as you crawled under a blanket and hid your face. Van laughed.

"Yeah. I won't tell nobody you said it if you let me keep doing it,"

"Everything about this situation is gross," you mumbled. Van snaked his way under the blankets with you. He kissed you gently.

"Y/N. I'm a dead simple lad. You know that. I drink tea. Have a smoke. Stoked if I find a buck on the street. I ain't trying to own you. I just wanna look out for the people I love, and I love you. Simple as that."

Maybe it was the residual THC or the warmth under the blanket, but you were getting hazy and sleepy again. When you closed your eyes you saw the funny sparkly stars. Fists rubbing against your eyelids made them twinkle brighter and harder and you giggled to yourself. Van's arms wrapped around you and he pulled you close to his chest. He made a better pillow than any of the others in the room, even that special memory foam one that appeared one day. He sighed happily and moved the blanket off your heads to let you both breathe. Your eyes stayed closed and you drifted off to sleep.

It didn't matter where you'd come from, where you were, or where you were going. It didn't matter what you did or did not have. The brand of shampoo you used. How much you could tip buskers on the street. The fact you stole a lot whenever there was a self-serve register available. Van loved you. He'd give as much as you'd let him and then just a little bit more.

You'd promise you'd swap roles when you grew up and figured out what you wanted to do and started to make real money. Van laughed it off, shrugged and smiled. Deep down you knew that would never happen. All you wanted was to have his babies and play house. It took a while to accept that, to really accept that a housewife and mother were valid things to want to be. It was strange; before Van, you never even liked kids. Then, bit by bit, his dreams of family life somehow seeped into your very core too. Eventually, he asked you to move in, to love Little Mary like your own. That was easy. Then, he asked you to be his fiancé, then his wife, then the mother of his first-born. Second-born. Third-born.

Sometimes you'd still think about the lady in the matching floral tracksuit, the one on the bus that just packed up and left. Things had worked out for her. She'd inspired you to be brave and you wanted to thank her for that. All you could do was name your middle child, the only girl, Violet, and never tell anyone why they were such a symbolic flower. If Violet ever knew she was named after a tracksuit pattern, she'd probably die of embarrassment. It was important though, to remember what made you realise you could just pick up your stuff, walk out the door, and never come back. It was important to remember what made you find your way to Van, to your absolute soulmate. To the life you never let yourself dream of. To children you never thought you'd dream of. To everything ever. It was important to remember. And so, you did.


End file.
